


Reminder

by Tzalmavet



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tzalmavet/pseuds/Tzalmavet
Summary: Zacharie becomes troubled while operating in zone 3, so the Batter reminds him of something important.





	Reminder

Zacharie drummed his fingers as he stood behind the counter in Area 4.  Boy, did he ever hate that whole place.  It was always fun following the Batter around and messing with him, especially when it gave him the opportunity to wear his Judge mask, but he never left zone 3 without taking a nasty feeling with him... which the Batter's aimless wandering was giving plenty of time to sink in.

He tried to hold still and keep his mind distracted.  Zone 3 always brought back awful memories.  Memories of death and sugar.  And of Sugar, too, of course.  It was getting harder and harder to ignore them as the tension wrapping around his chest spread into his limbs, making them jitter, making his head ache, making it difficult to breathe, making it harder and harder to focus on his task.

Zacharie wasn't too far removed from everyone else that lived in the zones.  He was a human, he had his job, his purpose, his inherent flaws.  But, unlike everyone else in the zones, Zacharie was _special_.  The game needed him in order to continue.   _His_ problems wouldn't kill him.

That didn't mean that they never hurt, though.

No, nope.  This wasn't a day where Zacharie could just stand there and take it.  He wished he could go somewhere nice and cool down with Pablo, but he couldn't move from where he was then until he was _required_ to be somewhere else.   _Ugh.  Ouch._   He'd found that the thing that usually worked best for him when this happened was to just lie down on the floor and wait for it to blow over.  Zacharie shakily removed his hands from the tabletop and lowered himself to curl up under the counter.  He coughed, but it was no big deal.  He'd recover by the time the Batter needed him.  He always did.

Zacharie folded his arms tightly around himself and tried to concentrate on breathing.  It wasn't easy, since it currently felt like a firecracker was going off in his ribcage.  He kept his eyes squeezed shut so he wouldn't have to look at the nauseating vomit green of zone 3 or the blackness that would've been filling his vision-- he pushed the edge of his mask up just enough to expose his mouth so that he wouldn't choke on it as much.

He coughed again, harder, more harshly.  It made his mouth taste like ashes and his stomach burn.  It was too hot, _way_ too hot, but all he could do was shiver.  Earlier on, it'd been almost impossible to believe that he wasn't really dying when this happened.  Even where he was presently, it felt as if his skull was going to shatter into a thousand pieces at any second.  But deep down, he knew better.

For an instant, he peeked an eye open, and looked up at the ceiling.  It was pitch black.  Black and poisonous, dark with the smoke (that's all people could call it) pouring from his lungs out his mouth.  He closed his eyes again.  It was a sickness inevitable to everyone dwelling in the zones, and anyone else in his position would've been long dead by now.  It was painful and terrifying, but despite his body's protests, he simply wouldn't burn.

Zacharie could've laid there for hours.  There were no clocks, the floor barely seemed real, and the screams of ghouls and spectres blended seamlessly with the ragged, high-pitched breaths wheezing out from himself.  It wouldn't last forever, couldn't last forever.  Zone 3 ( _fucking_ zone 3) was practically history anyways.  He just had to keep breathing, keep breathing, until it blew over.

An eternity later, it finally started to go away.  The fire in his chest fizzled down and the clenching around his head loosened.  He still felt pretty horrible, shaking, overheated, the air around him smelling like the furnace, but at least he wasn't coughing smoke anymore.  He turned onto his back, pulled his mask down, and opened his eyes.

There was the Batter.

Zacharie froze.  The purifier was behind the counter, one foot squarely planted on either side of him.  The Batter was staring him down, unblinking.  His bat was gripped tightly in both hands, held over one shoulder.

How long had he been standing there?!  Zacharie felt anxiety bite into him again like a vicious serpent.  He'd only managed to open his eyes once during the meltdown, and the Batter always approached without making a sound.  The Batter had that look on his face, that thousand-yard death glare.  That look he always had right before he entered combat.

Had he been there _waiting_ for Zacharie to burn that  _whole time?_   The thought was making the floor under Zacharie start spinning again, and he struggled to keep himself grounded.  He couldn't lose it again, not with the Batter right on top of him.  He was too dizzy to sit up, but he had to stay calm.  His life depended on it.

"I have nothing but good and wonderful stuff with me. Buy something, my friend," he chuckled from his place on the floor, resuming the script quickly soothing his nerves.

The Batter winced as Zacharie spoke.  His eyes widened, stiff arms gripping his bat even tighter.  He said nothing.  The Batter hovered above Zacharie in silence for over a minute like that, poised to bash his face in, but he didn't.  The Batter eventually scoffed and hopped over the counter, before running back into the darkness.

Zacharie finally managed to push himself upright as the Batter disappeared.   _That_ certainly could've gone better, he thought, rubbing his sore head.  But also, what did he expect?

The Batter was a killing machine.  He had little patience for what he deemed impure, and leapt at the chance to 'cleanse' it whenever he could.  Were it not for his puppeteer keeping him on a leash, his insatiable urge to purify would've probably gotten the Batter killed a long time ago.

Zacharie wondered why the Batter had walked in on him, that time, when he'd never caught him in that condition before.  It wasn't even supposed to be possible.  But for some reason, Zacharie was even _more_ surprised that he'd been so sure that the Batter would never hurt him.  Of _course_ he would kill Zacharie, given the excuse.  Why wouldn't he?  It wasn't like they were ever actually friends.

Strength returned to Zacharie's legs, and he immediately knew that he was needed again in the lower barracks, in his Judge mask.  He stood up and slipped into a secret door hidden in the wall behind him.  Not much longer he'd have to deal with this.  He just had to keep breathing, keep breathing, and it would all be over, soon.


End file.
